


date night

by thanksroach (irnhero)



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Cliffhanger, Established Relationship, Gun Violence, M/M, Modern Continent (The Witcher), Witcher-related bigotry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-07
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-15 15:01:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29810175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irnhero/pseuds/thanksroach
Summary: It’s date night, and Geralt has a really bad feeling.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Kudos: 6





	date night

**Author's Note:**

> i’m posting polished versions of some of my [febuwhump prompts](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29139258/chapters/71536530) on their own so they can have their time to shine; this was for the prompt, gunpoint

It’s date night, and Geralt has a really bad feeling. He can’t pin it down, but from the second Jaskier came home early suggesting they go out, something has been crawling under his skin. He almost says something, asks if they can’t just stay in tonight. 

He doesn’t, though. Jaskier is so excited, rambling on about how long it’s been since they had a night out and how busy he’s been with work. How this is just what he needs, a chance to relax and spend time together. 

So Geralt swallows his bad feeling. He smiles and puts on his going-out-jeans, the ones with fashionable holes rather than work-related ones. He tells himself he’s just being paranoid, that there’s nothing to worry about. That they’ll go out and have a lovely time and Jaskier will be happy.

He’s nearly convinced himself by the time they get to the bar. It’s not far from their building, a place they’ve been to a few times. Geralt likes it because it’s not too loud and Jaskier likes it because it’s lively enough that he doesn’t feel like the loudest person in the room. The prices are a bit steep, but it's worth it for an atmosphere they can both tolerate for more than one drink.

It’s Friday night, so it’s already busy, but they find a high-top table at the edge of the room to settle at. The waitress smiles easily at them and something uncurls in Geralt's gut. It’s not like he thought she would be rude–they’ve never had a problem here before–but he feels relieved anyway. Old habit.

Though, evidently, not an obsolete one. They’ve barely finished ordering when someone starts shouting from across the room. “Serving his kind, are we? S’that what the world’s come to?” 

The waitress whips around and the chatter in the bar dies down as people turn to look. Jaskier is already making to stand, but Geralt lays a hand on his thigh and levels him with a look.  _ No trouble tonight _ , it says. Jaskier keeps his seat, but his glare says he isn’t happy about it.

“I’m talking to you, you piss-eyed fuck.” 

The crowd parts and a group of stumbling drunks, maybe five, emerge with the loudmouth out front. It’s almost silent in the room now. Geralt feels dozens of eyes on him, watching and waiting. No one speaks up, no one intervenes. Everyone wants to see what the big bad Witcher will do. 

Loudmouth sneers and walks right up to their table, leaning on one of the empty chairs. The waitress jumps back clutching her little notebook. Geralt feels Jaskier tense every muscle in his body as if it were his own and tightens his grip on his thigh. The feeling crawls back under his skin. __

“Thing I can’t understand is how they just let you walk around,” says Loudmouth. His words are practically glued together. “Should at least have muzzles or something.” His friends laugh raucously.

Geralt knows what Jaskier is going to say before he says it, and the squeeze on his leg doesn’t stop him. “And I can’t understand how your mother didn’t smother you in your sleep, but then I suppose mysteries are a natural part of life.”

Deathly silence follows. Loudmouth’s nostrils flare, but he doesn’t do more to acknowledge Jaskier’s existence. They get this every now and then, too. The only thing worse than a mutant is someone who would willingly be with one. 

“You and your pet aren’t wanted here,” Loudmouth snarls. The only thing that keeps Geralt in his seat is the sight of the owner pushing through the crowd behind the little gang.

“Speak for yourself,” says the owner, crossing his arms over his chest. He’s older, balding on top. Geralt thinks his name is Dale–he waited on them once a while back.

Loudmouth makes a sloppy about-face and his entourage follows suit. “Throwing your lot in with the likes of that?”

“I’m throwing my lot in with paying customers who don’t make a scene and harass my other customers. Now, you go sleep it off before you find yourself barred from this establishment.” 

It seems like Loudmouth is ready to argue, but one of his cronies claps him on the shoulder and the moment is broken. He turns back to their table for one last glare before the group of them make for the door. The room exhales and chatter resumes with relative ease. Geralt sees Dale give him a nod and he returns it.

Jaskier grips his arm firmly and runs a soothing hand up and down his bicep. “Are you alright? We can go if you want,” he says, concern creasing his brow. 

Geralt takes a deep breath and shakes his head. “I’m fine. We should stay.” It’s not often a stranger sticks up for them and it would be a shame to waste it. Besides, the worst has certainly passed. After all that, he’d be damned if they didn’t get their night out.

“You’re sure? I don’t mind, we have alcohol at home.” 

Geralt smiles, just a curve of his lips, and leans in to kiss Jaskier's cheek. “I’m sure.”

They actually do have a lovely time. The waitress tells them their first drink is on the house and someone sends a plate of fries to their table, the curly ones that Jaskier thinks are superior for some reason and will not accept criticism of. They don’t get  _ that  _ drunk, but by the time the bill is paid, Jaskier is giggling like a teenager and Geralt is more than a little tipsy.

Geralt feels good, that nasty feeling from earlier completely forgotten. Jaskier is plastered to his side, holding his hand and grinning. Happy just like Geralt hoped he would be. Geralt is looking at him. That’s why he doesn’t see the figures waiting for them as they pass a narrow ally until they’re being grabbed and shoved into the shadows.

It’s Loudmouth and two more from the bar, armed with lengths of pipe. Apparently, sobriety sturred them to assault and battery. Geralt hears the ring of a pipe making contact with something solid and Jaskier’s choked off cry while dodging a swing himself.

Even halfway to drunk, Geralt makes quick work of the first two, knocking one out cold with his own weapon and sending the other running back down the ally with an undignified whimper. He spins around on his heel for Loudmouth and freezes in his tracks.

Jaskier is on his knees with his hands in the air and terror in his eyes. Loudmouth has him by the collar of his jacket. There’s a gun in his hand aimed at the back of Jaskier’s head. Geralt puts his own hands up in a placating gesture.

“Don’t hurt him,” he says as calmly as he can manage.

“No?” asks Loudmouth with a sickening smirk. He pushes Jaskier’s head forward with the muzzle of the gun and Jaskier squeezes his eyes shut for a moment. Geralt can hear the frightened sound he tries to swallow. 

“No,” Loudmouth repeats, less a question and more of a statement. “Not his fault some mutant scum is stringing him along. Why don't I just hurt you?” He raises the gun from Jaskier without releasing him and trains it on Geralt.

Of all the ways Geralt thought he might die, shot in a shit-stained ally by a drunk bigot was never on his radar. He’s not bothered by that so much as the thought of Jaskier having to watch. He deserves so much better than this. Geralt just hopes Jaskier has the good sense to run while Loudmouth is distracted.

But Jaskier’s not satisfied with that, of course, he isn’t. He never could just let things be. He reaches behind him, under his jacket and Geralt’s heart stops.

Jaskier has his gun. Geralt insisted on it a few years ago after a string of death threats for the both of them. They spent weeks searching for the right one, getting permits, taking lessons, going to target practice. It was small, easy to conceal, and easier to handle. In this moment, Geralt has never regretted anything more in his life.

Loudmouth sees Jaskier moving and turns back to him. Jaskier is quick, he’s already got his little pistol out of its holster. Geralt feels like a statue, rooted in place with no power to do anything but watch.

A shot rings out.

**Author's Note:**

> visit me on [tumblr](https://d-andilion.tumblr.com/)  
> before you ask, no i will not reveal what happens - a little mystery is good for the soul ;)


End file.
